


Labyrinth

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [290]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 02:07:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12333300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: labyrinth: noun: ˈla-bə-ˌrin(t)th: something extremely complex or tortuous in structure, arrangement, or characterlate Middle English (referring to the maze constructed by Daedalus to house the Minotaur): from French labyrinthe or Latin labyrinthus, from Greek laburinthos.





	Labyrinth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> a bit inspired by the 'celestial beast'.... not quite 50,000 words...

Sherlock sat up gingerly, leaned back into the headboard and looked down at John, peacefully at rest, after one of the longest weeks he could remember. Too many cases, one after the other - but at last, after months of tiptoeing about the elephant that lurked around every corner, they collapsed together on the couch, and John had looked into Sherlock's eyes and kissed him long and hard before he apologized, falling asleep against the arm of the couch. Sherlock had followed shortly after him, the feeling that they had finally made it through a labyrinth of fear and questions and had finally stopped caring about what other people thought or talked about vaguely crossed his mind as he fell asleep against John's chest. 

Now, what, two days later, they had settled into a understanding of a sort. They hadn't talked about it, as if afraid if they brought it up it would break whatever spell had been cast. Instead, they were even more attached at the hip than they had been previously. For his part, Sherlock hated not being able to reach out and touch John, not necessarily kiss him, but just to lean against him, or brush an imaginary speck from his shoulder. He needed to breathe in John's scent, know that he was there - present. Sherlock wanted to trace the crinkles that sleep had embedded into John's cheek with a single finger, he wanted to snuggle down under the heavy covers, tangle himself around John, and never let him go. 

"Absurd."

"Hmm?"

"Damn. Sorry - I didn't mean to wake you."

"What time is it?"

Sherlock grabbed his phone from the bed side table and turned it on. "Half past eight." He whispered in surprise.

"Eight hours of sleep, must be a new record." John grinned up at him gently, took the phone out of Sherlock's trembling hand and laid it aside, then took his hand and pressed it to his cheek before bringing it to his lips. "Good morning, love."

Sherlock blinked at him for a moment, then scooted closer to John, until he felt his warmth radiate against his own skin. "You're freezing," John mumbled.

"I don't -" John leaned into him and kissed one of the freckles that decorated his neck. It was slightly ticklish, but the sensation of John's lips against such sensitive skin was something he couldn't bear to interrupt. In fact, if he could stay right here, and never move again for the rest of his life, he would happily sell whatever soul he possessed to whomever would make the bargain. But life had other plans and he heard both of their mobiles ping. He sighed, already becoming annoyed, and John stopped for a brief moment, then went on to the next freckle.


End file.
